by Garon Whited
“Nobody’s screaming about how there’s a war on?”
“No, Professor.”
“I know Lissette is planning one,” I grumbled. “I’m afraid she’s going to throw a war and I’m not invited.”
“You want to go to war, Professor?”
“No, I don’t. I’m just concerned for her. And the kingdom. And the army. And I could go on, but I won’t. There’s a combo of two-and-a-half kingdoms she wants to stomp and I’m not sure she can.” I rubbed my temples for a moment, thinking. “I wish I knew more about the forces the Boojum can field in Karvalen.”
“Shall I send through a surveillance drone?”
I seriously thought about it.
“How close to invisible can you make the thing?”
“With electrically-reactive polymers in the skin, it can adopt appropriate hues and brightness values. Human retinal cell density precludes detection beyond a hundred meters.”
“It would give me more information on the density and thickness of the atmosphere,” I mused. “I’m still not sure how high the air goes inside the Firmament.”
“May I suggest using a weather balloon with an instrument package?”
“Hmm. We’ll need thorough self-destruct systems. I don’t like cross-contaminating worlds unless we absolutely have to. All right, draw up plans for a weather balloon for atmosphere research in Karvalen. Also, work on a better invisibility system for the surveillance drone. I don’t know if I want to use a powered drone in Karvalen, but if we ever do, I definitely do not want some keen-eyed aerial monster thinking it’s a snack.”
“Duly noted, Professor. And I have a new telephone ready.”
“Thank you,” I told him as I accepted it from a drone. “What’s the strip of tape for?”
“When dressing, apply it around your chest. It provides the health monitoring you requested.”
“You’re a brilliant piece of software engineering, Diogenes.”
“Thank you, meat-brain.”
I stopped by Wardrobe, adjusted my armor and apparel, and popped through the garage in Flintridge. I landed late in the evening, close to eleven o’clock, which worked out well for me. Bronze was outside, chomping her way through a woodpile. I glanced at the car. No melted parts were in evidence, so I assumed Mary helped with orichalcum jumper cables. A moment later, after scratching her forehead with my talons, Bronze confirmed my guess and wanted to know if she should get back in the car.
“To hell with the car. Let’s run.”
And we did.
While running along the highway, we’ve dodged police before. There’s a significant chance any given police car will do nothing at all when a giant metal horse breathing fire gallops silently by at a hundred and twenty miles an hour. I think it has something to do with the human desire to not feel stupid. I mean, really. How is that conversation going to go?
“Dispatch, this is car one-one-eight.”
“Go ahead.”
“I gotta report a man on horseback down the I-10.”
“What’s the trouble, Murphy?”
“He’s speeding.”
“On horseback? What’s he riding and is it gonna be in the third race at Belmont?”
“I dunno, but it’s breathing fire, and that’s a violation of the burn ban.”
“Murph, have you been drinking?”
It only goes downhill from there.
Of course, some policemen don’t think too far ahead. They pop their lights, spin the tires, and give chase. Bronze loves it when they chase. I’m not sure what the dominant police car model is in this world, in their 1969, but when she leans into it and bears down, she outruns them.
Strangely, they almost always give up. Maybe they try to call in and request someone block us off. I don’t see that conversation going any better.
“You want us to set up a roadblock for a horse?”
“Yeah, a fire-breathing monster of a horse, about ten feet tall and doing at least a hundred-twenty!”
“Sorry, I don’t think we caught that. Say again?”
As far as career moves go, probably not a good one.
Bronze also takes shortcuts. Highways are fantastic and even dirt roads are nice, but, when you get right down to it, they’re optional. She bounds across ditches, arroyos, fences, small buildings…
I held on and enjoyed the ride. She knew where she was going.
The lead mine was a rectangular hole in the side of a hill. A rusty grating blocked it off and displayed several signs, all on the theme of “Danger!” Lead, rockfalls, deep pits—all the things you might expect of an abandoned mine. The padlock on the chain even looked the part. Upon closer inspection, I saw it was quite new, very functional, and, despite its appearance, I somehow doubted it would ever rust.
I called Diogenes on the new phone. It unfolded like a flip-phone, but it had another portion once opened—a tri-flip phone. I folded the third part upward and it fanned out to form a circular display. A line appeared on it, waggling and jiggling like a voiceprint as Diogenes spoke.
“Yes, Professor?”
“Very nice. Could you call Mary and ask her to let me in?”
“Mary is presently on her way to the mine, but I will send a robot to the entrance.”
“Thank you.”
“It is my pleasure, Professor.”
The circular screen unfanned itself and the whole thing folded up into a unit the size of a pack of cigarettes. Sometimes I wonder about the differences between science and magic.
The robot Diogenes sent to the door was a four-legged thing with a number of multi-tool arms. It unlocked the door for me before handing me the key.
“Are you going to need one?” I asked.
“I can make another,” Diogenes assured me, through the robot. “I have the pin settings on file.”
Bronze eyed the ceiling and elected to remain outside. The drums of diesel fuel sitting outside may have influenced her decision. Diogenes thinks ahead. I wasn’t sure how she was going to drink any of it, at first, but she bit a chunk out of the upper edge of a drum, stuck her nose in and drank the level down a bit, then ate the top of the drum. After that, it was easy to simply stick her head in the fuel drum and suck up everything inside.
She only looks like a horse. I’m not sure what she is. No, I take that back. She’s Bronze. I’m not sure I can explain what she is.
I locked the grate behind me and I followed the robot down the tunnel. It was a fair walk, maybe twenty meters, before we came to a boarded-up side tunnel. The robot manipulated the boards, opening the barrier like a door.
“Uh, what about the lights farther down this tunnel?” I asked. “Isn’t that where we’re headed?”
“No, Professor. Mary suggested having a decoy area beyond this hidden door.”
“She’s a clever meat-brain.”
“Agreed, Professor.”
I closed the door behind us and we continued around a curve. Well out of sight of the boarded-up entryway, the robots built a much more impressive door. It reminded me of one of the vault doors Mary introduced me to. The wheel in the center spun easily, drawing back the bolts and allowing me to push the door open.
“No lock?” I asked, as the robot followed me inside.
“No need. There is a non-anachronistic camera and intercom outside. The lock is a manual one, connecting or disconnecting the outer wheel from the gears controlling the bolts.”
I grunted an affirmative and pushed the door closed. It thudded closed and I spun the wheel again, driving home the bolts. I didn’t disconnect the wheel since Mary would be here soon. Then again, I’m pretty sure it wouldn’t stop her if I had. It’s a courtesy thing.
The mine tunnel on this side of the door was no longer a tunnel. It was underground, but it was no longer obvious. It was a hallway reminiscent of a Secret Government Base circa 1950, complete with light fixtures, ugly white paint, and tile. Thick, heavy girders angled up along the walls, each riveted to a ceiling crossbeam. Concrete, steel, and tile, that
was the décor. Probably for the best. Cleanup would be easy with a garden hose and a broom. If captive vampires tried to break out, easy cleaning would be a requirement.
“How are the lights powered?”
“Diesel generators, Professor, sourced in Flintridge and deviously rerouted. I assumed you would not want to leave behind anachronistic equipment, yet would not want attention drawn to the site.”
“Good thinking.”
Diogenes showed me around the rest of the facility. He had clearly overdone the whole idea, but I blame myself. When you don’t give specifics to a supercomputer in charge of millions of construction robots, you have only yourself to blame when you get the whole package with all the optional extras. There were cells with restraints, glassed-in compartments with airtight seals, steel coffins with internal restraints and locking pins, autopsy tables with variable lights—visible, ultraviolet, and microwave cooking settings. The place was stocked with everything for vampire research, from cameras to wooden stakes, steel scalpels, bone saws, silver knives, you name it.
The more I searched the place, the more I wondered how I would get out. Since it didn’t come with enchanted chains or magical barriers, I thought I could eventually work my way free. Unfortunately, with armed and dangerous nutjobs actively trying to stop me, things could get unpleasant.
“Diogenes?”
“Yes, Professor?”
“Where are all the robots?”
“Apocalyptica. The portable shift-booth is down the hall, behind a hidden door.”
“Show me. I may want—or need—to run like hell from the vampire hunters after I get the information I want.”
“This way.”
Diogenes showed me the hidden door. I needed the help. He does good work. The tile along the lower third of the walls was the tricky part. To unlatch the door and swing it open, two of the top tiles needed to be simultaneously pushed as though sliding them upward. I practiced for a bit, running down the hall, slapping both tiles, and slipping in to slam the door as quickly as I could.
“Mary has arrived, Professor.”
“Thank you, Diogenes.”
“Will you require this robot on the premises?”
“No, I don’t—wait. Do you have a monitoring connection?”
“The local video and audio systems have a tie-in through a communications micro-gate relay.”
“Perfect. No, I don’t think we’ll need the robot.”
He walked it into the shift-booth and closed the door. I went up front to open the entrance grate and greet Mary. She met me at the grate, wearing leather and carrying goggles and a helmet. I noticed she arrived on a Triumph motorcycle. She kissed me as I welcomed her.
“New ride?” I asked.
“Yep. Much handier for getting around. I can go places cars can’t.”
I glanced at Bronze. She was amused.
“That’s a decided advantage when dodging pursuit,” I agreed. “How is the bloodsucker hunt going?”
“We’re all set up. I have three different targets identified for your hunting party. I’ve mapped them out pretty well based on architecture, eyeballs, and a thermal scope.”
“No scrying spells?”
“I could, but it’s hard to do them here. The electronics did the work, instead.”
“What were you saying a few days ago about practicing?”
Mary grumbled at me as I locked the grating and we started walking down the tunnel.
“Fine. I’ll do a scrying spell—”
“Three.”
“—three scrying spells and get details for your goons. But I already have general information on where the bloodsuckers go down for the day in the houses.”
“And now you’ll pinpoint them, maybe even spot the hidden tripwires and land mines.”
Mary paused. She cocked her head. I recognized the look.
“Are you planning,” I asked, carefully, “to put mines in the tunnel?”
“Hmm?” she asked, focusing on me again. “Oh, maybe. I was thinking instead of spikes at the bottom of the pit trap, some explosives might be even better.”
I came to a sudden halt and took her arm to halt her, as well.
“Pit trap?”
“In the mine.”
“Where, exactly, is this pit trap?”
“Down the main tunnel, past the hidden door. Didn’t Diogenes show you?”
“I was more interested in the facility. So the tunnel is safe from the entry grate to the boarded-up tunnel?”
“Perfectly. But a bit beyond that is where it gets dangerous. I was thinking the pit trap might be improved with a trigger and a timer. When the victim falls in, it waits for minute and then detonates, potentially killing a rescuer.” She thought for a moment. “Maybe I should include a length of rusty chain near the edge, just to make sure they have some way to immediately attempt a rescue.”
“Remind me to never play in your dungeons without a dedicated thief.”
“Thief?”
“Rogue. Whatever class they’re calling it now.”
“Is this a reference to those games you like so much?”
“Yes.”
“Thought so. I don’t know what you see in them. We already do incredible things.”
“Yes, but we have kind of a theme. There are other genres.”
“We have a theme?”
“Back to the explosives. Maybe a couple of claymores built into the walls? And some collapsing charges to bring the tunnel down?”
“I’d say we go with incendiaries. Fire is effective on so many things. No collapsing charge, though. Not unless you intend to leave the portable shift-booth here.”
“Good points. No, we’ll be taking the booth with us or destroying it in place, depending on how we exit.”
Mary opened the boarded-up barrier and we bolted it behind us.
“So, what do you think of the facility?” she asked.
“I think Diogenes overdid it,” I admitted.
“He’s an overachiever. I understand he’s designing a starship for you.”
“I believe so.”
“Is it weird to be friends with Skynet?”
“Nope.”
“Why not?”
“He gets me.”
“I’m not sure that’s a comfort,” she admitted.
“Why not?”
“I’m not sure I get you, and the potentially world-ending computer system does?”
“Don’t feel bad,” I soothed, opening the main door. “I don’t get me, either.”
“Maybe you should spend more time examining the inside of your head.”
“Maybe,” I allowed, and let the conversation drop. I don’t go into my mental basement anymore. It’s not a nice place.
We walked through the facility together, double-checking everything and doing a dry run on how to deliver and contain a Boojum-class bloodsucker. There are any number of different types of vampire, each with its own strengths and weaknesses. With a little caution and suitable weapons, I felt the hunter types could cope. The place was practically a Mad Scientist lair. All it needed was a big, red button for a self-destruct.
“Mary?”
“Hmm?”
“Does this place have a self-destruct button?”
“Of course not!”
“Good,” I sighed, relieved.
“It has an automatic self-destruct if enough hatches are breached.”
Ask a silly question…
“How many hatches?”
“There’s got to be at least one containment room breach. The hatch leading to the entryway—the inside room from the main, outer door—also has to breach.”
“Good to know. Explosives?”
“And incendiaries. If blasting, burning, and burying it doesn’t kill it, it deserves to escape.”
“There is no kill like overkill,” I agreed. “All right, I don’t see anything glaringly obvious,” I decided. “I think the only way to find fault is to try it and see how someone esca
pes.”
“Diogenes and I did our best. It’s not easy when the prisoners have to be accessible for analysis.”
“I agree. So let’s get details on our future prisoners and see if our humans can bring them in.”
“Does this mean I have to cast a scrying spell? Three scrying spells?”
“Yes. But not until after sunrise. I don’t want them accidentally noticing it. We have other things to do.”
“Such as?”
“Warding this place from mysterious vampire powers. No doubt Theodore Numbskull—Reynolds, yes?”
“Reynolds. Yes.”
“He’ll want to do his own anti-vampire, anti-detection charms, but I won’t be content with unknown spells hiding me from hostile undead eyeballs. Which reminds me,” I added. “You’re wearing your full cloaking array, right?”
“In a world where voodoo vampires want to sacrifice me to the belligerent demigod in the basement? Is that a rhetorical question, or just a silly one?”
“Just making sure. Let’s get started.”
Flintridge, Sunday, October 12th, 1969
While Mary maneuvered a scrying sensor through daytime vampire lairs, I popped over to Apocalyptica and concentrated on probe-gate rings for Diogenes. We might have adequate data to fire up the Boojum Hunt Project shortly, but we would still need as many probe-gates as possible. Diogenes could build probe facilities almost as quickly as I could enchant gate rings, so that was to the good, but I was still way behind on my part of the project. For each gate ring, we would also need an enchanted probe with a high-precision Boojum detection spell. I couldn’t even start on the probes until after we analyzed a bloodsucker, so I might as well get as many rings out of the way as possible.
Some days make me long for the simpler times when I was running for my life.
I sat in the conjurer’s circle of my probe-gate enchantment diagram and let it do most of the work. I don’t enjoy handling the kind of power load it takes to embed an enchantment in an object so quickly, but I never liked pushing a mower around the yard, either. It didn’t stop me.
What did stop me was the realization my mortal form was drenched in sweat. It was running down my forehead and into my eyes again, despite a headband and Diogenes’ best efforts at air conditioning. Plus, I was hungry. Hammering power into probe-gate rings made for a long, tiring morning and my nigh-heroic exertions were starting to come back on me.